


Sugar

by Amymel86



Series: The Outside [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, Soldier!Jon, dystopian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:28:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26915134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: For the autumn event, prompt: sweetness
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: The Outside [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1929445
Comments: 23
Kudos: 113
Collections: Jonsa Autumn Drabbles 2020





	Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> For the autumn event, prompt: sweetness

The gas camping torch light from their packs was flickering across her face and in her nice hair. The chilli from the food rations was too sloppy in texture for Jon’s liking, but he’d had worse. Complaining about his circumstances were far from his mind tonight.

They’d happened upon what Sansa tells him was an old gas station. Unfortunately, The Resistance hadn’t left any supplies here, but the shelter for the night would do them fine none-the-less. The evening had long drawn in before they’d stopped. Sansa had looked in need of rest and Jon’s bandages could do with being changed. They had eaten first, and now she’s touching him all gentle like. It made him shiver.

“Do you need to take anything more for the pain?”

He shakes his head. When Sansa had first patched him up, she had fished around in the supply packs and given him a couple of pills to swallow. They had done the job but left him a little foggy-headed and tired for a good few hours. He’d rather take the pain.

He’s quiet while she winds fresh bandaging around his arm. Nice and tight, secure. Sansa’s humming something while she works and Jon finds himself leaning closer. Sometimes, his generals would whistle a tune, but this wasn’t like that. It was soft, like a blanket, it was pleasant where their whistling had been shrill.

“All done,” she says, gifting him a small satisfied smile.

“Tell me about your boy-friend,” Jon hears himself ask, the question is sudden and he feels almost as surprised as Sansa looks. “...please.”

Her little pink tongue pokes out to swipe across her lips. Jon blinks at the sight. Sansa seems reluctant to answer at first – perhaps he’d done the wrong thing in asking. “Well,” she says, putting away the medical supplies, “he’s handsome and kind, and he makes me laugh.”

As far as Jon could tell, ‘hand-some’ meant that Sansa found this boy-friend visually appealing. That was his best guess anyway. Part of him would like to ask her to clarify this, and then to enquire on what exactly it takes for someone to be deemed ‘hand-some’. Would she describe Jon in such a way? He won’t ask that though. It didn’t seem right somehow.

“How did you decide that this man would be your boy-friend?” Jon asks her back as she was rolling out one of the sleeping bags.

Sansa glanced back at him over her shoulder before turning back to her task. She was quiet for a while and Jon wondered if he should not have asked. “It’s... it’s not like some big official thing where we announced that he’s my guy and I’m his girl or anything. We just...” Jon watches as she’s waving her hands a little as though that will help her explain it better to him. “...I don’t know. We grew closer. He bought sugar back for me from a raid and we just started talking.”

Jon grunts. He’s not entirely sure how sugar and talking equate to being intimate with another person. Maybe one day he’ll find out.

Sansa had unrolled the second sleeping bag right beside the first. Jon initially wondered if he should move it, give her more space. But, as he watches Sansa climb in and scoot down her own bag, she pats the one on the ground beside her.

Why does his mouth go suddenly dry at her invitation? Jon tries not to look at her while he completely unzips the bag – better to be simply under it and able to jump up quickly should he need to. She’s watching him though – he can feel it. Checking his weapons before retiring, Jon feels a little flip in his stomach by how close she lays next to him. Sansa turns their camping lantern down lower and lower until they’re left in an embrace of darkness.

An animal howls from somewhere far off outside and Jon might like to slip into its mind but then he’d be out there and not in here, laying on the ground of an abandoned gas station right next to Sansa.

“Why sugar?” he asks the blackness of night.

“Hm?”

“You said he – _your boy-friend_ \- gave you sugar and that...” the words are failing him at the moment. His mouth opens and closes, not that she can see it. “You decided to be intimate with him.”

He can practically hear the smile in her voice. “I didn’t _decide_ to be intimate with him _because_ he gave me sugar, Jon. He got me the sugar because I told him I miss baking. I baked him a cake to say thank you and then... I don’t know, things just happened. It’s not serious.”

 _It’s not serious._ What did that mean?

“Maybe I’ll bake you a cake one day,” Sansa said in a soft, quiet voice.

“I’ll have to get you some sugar first.”

She does a funny little sleepy laugh-snort at that. The noise made him smile.

Turning onto his side, he can just about make out her silhouette in the dark. “Sansa?”

“Hm?” She sounds half asleep already.

“I’ve never had cake before.”

***

Jon doesn’t think he’s ever slept so soundly – which is surprising, considering he was on the hard ground with nothing to cushion him. There was something calming about listening to Sansa’s deep, restful breathing, and being close enough that her nice smell was blanketed around him.

He wakes with a series of rapid blinks. Morning light gleaming though the large windows of their little gas station. Sansa’s still asleep. Jon’s close enough to see those little dots sprinkled across her nose – he kind of wants to join them up with his fingertip. Wondering if she’d like that or not – or whether it would constitute as ‘copping a feel’, Jon rolls onto his back and stares up at the ceiling.

An engine he hadn’t realised was running turns off outside. A truck door opens and slams shut.


End file.
